


Day One

by ofvanity



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/F, Infidelity, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofvanity/pseuds/ofvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnetic is an appropriate adjective, Ariadne thinks, staring at Mal’s coy grin when she shows up spontaneously.</p>
<p>“Dominic and I had a row,” she explains, leaning against the doorframe. “Can I stay for tonight?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Largely self-indulgent.

It takes six months for the memory of Mal to feel like a dream. Six months, twelve days and fourteen hours. Ariadne is sitting in her dorm room in Paris, surrounded by a variety of letters and photographs. She was supposed to be cleaning her room but ended up scattering the life of her best friend on the floor again, trying not to cry into her scarves at the bottom of the box. The box itself is stuffed with Mal Artifacts: a diary, her chewed pens, her barrettes and dried mascara tubes. There’s a stuffed animal and half-empty nail varnish bottles, some letters, some pictures and a number at the bottom.

Depending on the day, Ariadne might get to the number. The box is pretty packed, and something inevitably distracts her but today is no such day. She gets to the number, scrawled in fading pencil on the unruled side of a bent purple index card. A corner, previously folded over like a dog-ear, has sliced itself and curves the edge left behind. Ariadne scratches the tip of her fingernail against the new curve in thought. 

They haven’t spoken since Mal graduated from college six months before and found herself an American boyfriend. But before she left the night she moved out, she grabbed a pencil from Arthur’s briefcase and stole one his note cards. The product shakes in Ari’s hand, after months of being tucked under a stack of photos from when they all went to the zoo.

A wave of nostalgia presses into her chest and she reaches for the phone. It’s a little under the bed and she crashes into the bed frame on the way back up. The pain helps, a moment later, when the phone is ringing and she needs a distraction. She rubs at the tender spot and doesn’t keep the time.

No one answers.

-

She doesn’t hear from Mal for another while, even though Arthur sends her vague text messages on random days to confirm his continued existence. That much she expects from him, he’s never been very talkative. It’s not until the last two days before Winter Break that Ariadne gets a call. She’s striding across the bridge at the time, however, and doesn’t hear her phone ring in her pocket.

She doesn’t hear it ring from the shower, either or while she’s listening to music on her laptop. That’s three calls in one day and when she’s ready to go to sleep, after studying for a few hours for her last final of the semester, she’s got a new text from Mal: Are you still awake?

It’s dated ten minutes ago and instead of answering, Ariadne turns over and goes to sleep. It’s just not a good time. Seven months and three days and three hours.

-

Ariadne isn’t a petulant person but for a long time she refused to agree when people called Mal enigmatic. It’s not that Mal doesn’t have her enigmatic moments, it’s that those moments are highly stylized and fabricated. Mal is fiercely intelligent and even manipulative at times. There’s no doubt to her charm or her wit but the notion of enigma doesn’t suit her.

Magnetic is an appropriate adjective, Ariadne thinks, staring at Mal’s coy grin when she shows up spontaneously.

“Dominic and I had a row,” she explains, leaning against the doorframe. “Can I stay for tonight?”

Ariadne has a single this semester, a stroke of absolute luck, and so has no excuses. But watching the slip of Mal’s dress wrinkle between her knees, she considers whether or not she needs an excuse. 

“I’m moving out tomorrow night,” she says, instead. ‘We only have tonight.”

Mal slips into the room, pulling the duffel bag along and reaching down to undo her knee-length boots. “When does your flight leave?”

“Midnight, tomorrow night.”

She nods, glancing around the room. “Not a problem.”

No, Ariadne thinks, getting Mal to leave isn’t the hard part.

-

They start the night off with a few celebratory drinks, bumping their elbows together to take shots of tequila, shoes and coats and scarves discarded on the opposite side of the room. The box has migrated to the middle of the room again, contents pouring out in a slow trickle as the night begins. 

Mal is currently halfway through her first glass of wine, never mind the two tequila shots prior and the swigs of Bacardi she had straight from the bottle. She raises the photo of Eames and her at the beach in Nice during Spring Break from two years ago. “Look at us,” she says, tapping the photo with her fingernail. “We look so happy.”

“How is Eames?”

“He’s getting along. We haven’t spoken as frequently as we do since his mother passed. He’s been with Arthur.”

“Been with Arthur or been with Arthur?”

Mal considers, pursing her lips, “Whichever of those tones that indicates sex.”

“Really?” Ariadne says, shocked. “You think so?”

Mal shrugs, “It’s the rumor Eames refuses to confirm. You don’t?”

“Don’t what?”

“Think so.”

Ariadne considers, stirring her glass of wine in slow strokes. “No,” she replies eventually. “I don’t think they fit well together. They’re too different.”

“Opposites attract.”

“Sometimes,” Ariadne agrees, “But people like Arthur and Eames, that are so unlike each other don’t ever find common ground.” Ariadne shrugs and doesn’t look Mal in the eye, “I mean, I don't know, maybe it works for them. Good for them if it does.”

“It did for us,” Mal says carefully, and Ariadne can hear the edge of caution in her voice. Ariadne sips her wineglass, savoring it even though it mostly tastes like grape juice and liquor, and doesn’t say: “No it didn’t.”

-

At some point, they migrate towards the bathroom and do each other’s nails over the sink. The colors are all from a variety of left-behind bottles and Mal is doing Ariadne’s toes in layers of royal blue and turtle green for an electric turquoise product. Their wine glasses are at their feet, empty save for a centimeter of wine. It’s so round at the bottom and Ariadne whistles at it from a distance, to see if she can make it stir.

“How is the boy you’ve been seeing?”

“I haven’t been seeing a boy,” Ariadne replies between whistles. The curve of her tongue on her lips feels warm and heavy, a little numb. She’s starting to feel drunk. “I’ve never dated boys.”

“You dated Arthur,” Mal reminds her.

Ariadne fixes her a glare, “For two days.” Then rolls her eyes, waving her arms dismissively at Mal, “When we were both fourteen!”

“It was a heated romance, I know,” Mal stage whispers playfully.

Ariadne laughs and kicks at her hand, sending the brush of nail polish flying over them before clattering to the ground. They’re both caught in the arterial spray of turtle green and the arc of it paints their arms. Mal frowns and Ariadne hisses at it. “Shit,” she scramble for the brush before it drips on the floor and caps the bottle quickly. “What should we do?”

“Let’s just wait,” Mal decides, “It will dry and then we can flake it off.”

-

Mal is flushing bright red before the night is over. They’re lying with their heads dangling off the side of the bed, shoulders pressed together. Ariadne watches Mal through half-closed eyes and the shadow of her own lashes, talking about a thousand things at once and nothing at all.

“But he keeps sending me passive aggressive text messages and voicemails about how I’m not truly an adult if I can’t manage my own bank account. I should just tell him that Dominic is the one fucking with the money and getting into shit with drug dealers but I don’t care. It’s not about that, it’s about respect.”

“Mmm.” Ari nods sagely. “Expect.”

“He doesn’t respect me, that’s all. I’m going to be forty years old and he’ll still be after me asking if I’ve taken my medicine or paid my mortgage. Hello! Autonomy, dad, it’s the twentieth century!”

“Twenty-first,” Ariadne corrects absently. There is warm buzzing in her head that is making her body feel pleasant all over. Even still, she remembers Mal’s grudge against the 21st century concept vs. the year actually being 2000. “The year zero was the first century.”

“Shit,” she mutters in angry whispers. “Fuck it all, even that doesn’t make sense because the year zero was chosen arbitrarily!”

Ariadne nods, toying with the strands of her hoodie, “And the idea of progress is a social construction that naturalizes popular concepts of social order for each era.”

“Yeah!” Mal agrees. “Fuck that too.”

Ariadne giggles and feels light-headed. She hefts herself up and lays her legs over Mal’s body, “Shift it, you’re gonna puke in your own hair.”

“I’m not going to vomit,” Mal says, but shifts anyway so they are laying side by side. “I’m cold.”

Ariadne considers lifting the blankets over them but instead opens her sweater and invites Mal inside. “C’mon.”

They fall asleep like that, Mal tucked into the crook of Ariadne’s neck and her arms wrapped around Ari’s waist, Ariadne partially on top of her. Outside, the snow slows to a stop, but the wind continues to howl afterwards. They fall asleep like that, listening to the sharp ring of the wind, and thinking about nothing at all.

-

They wake up nearly choking each other and in darkness. Their limbs are tangled and for a moment, Ariadne thinks someone has broken into her home to kill her but the panic is rapidly abated when she remembers Mal came to spend the night. It’s not even light outside yet and Ariadne drops her head back down, sighing. Somehow during the night, Mal extracted herself to reach for more layers because they’ve got jackets and sweaters draped over them at odd angles.

Mal is glancing at her with bleary eyes. “Fuck,” she says and reverts to French entirely to complain about her headache.

Ariadne’s not awake enough to answer in French and instead, maintains her part of the conversation in English. “Let’s get under the actual covers.”

“Your flight?”

Ariadne almost says, “What flight?”, but then she remembers her cover. “We have time.”

“Okay.”

They separate, stripping themselves out of their clothes and into pajamas. The hoodie stays on and Ariadne shuffles the extra clothes off the bed to make room. They finished a box of wine last night and a bottle of rum but by the time they’re ready to really get into bed, her headache has blossomed into a fucking nightmare.

Ari climbs under the blankets first, cuddling into the warm comforter and leaving space for Mal. As soon as she’s inside, Ariadne is cuddling up to her, too, thankful for the spread of body heat inside their blankets. “Fuck it’s freezing,” she complains.

Mal replies in half-whispered, far too quiet and far too rapid French and Ariadne just nods along. “Yeah. Go back to sleep, we’ll figure it out later.”

“What? Did you hear what I said?”

“No,” Ariadne chuckles, “I just went along with it.”

“I said I’m going to kiss you now.”

“For what?”

“For pleasure,” Mal promises and suddenly, she’s there, pressing their mouths together in a dry kiss and insinuating her leg between Ariadne’s thighs.

Ariadne is actually shocked by Mal’s behavior and it isn’t until she realizes she’s shocked that she realizes she shouldn’t be. Mal can be coy and charming but she’s the puppet master behind the fabrication of her own image. Ariadne licks at the seal of her lips and Mal parts them with a small noise in the back of her throat. It sounds good to Ariadne and the thigh pressing against her own pools heat in her stomach but she’s not naive.

The kiss breaks and Ariadne says, “Are you still drunk?”

Mal bites her bottom lip and sighs into her mouth, whining. “No fucking way otherwise my head would actually feel good right now.”

“You’re hungover already.” Ariadne confirms.

“Mmm-hmm,” Mal confirms, ghosting her tongue against Ari’s jaw, biting there. “More’s the pity.”

Mal sucks bruises into Ari’s neck and Ari busies herself trying to pull Mal’s shirt over her head without exposing their blankets to the outside cold. It more or less works and Mal laughs into her skin, breasts falling out of her bra with a quick tug to the clasps. The bra is simply discarded and Ari spends a minute, remembering the curve of Mal’s breasts in her hands, their weight and warmth as she pinches them until they’re pink. 

Mal is panting in her ear, “Ari, baby,” she groans, “Kiss me.”

Ari abandons her task to guide Mal away from her mouth. “My mouth tastes like shit.”

“So does mine,” Mal says, “Don’t worry, I’ll wash it down with the taste of your cunt.”

Ariadne laughs but a spark of heat shoots through her and before she knows it, Mal is going down on her. Her pants are gone in one good tug and her underwear are simply pulled aside with the scratch of Mal’s fingernails. Her tongue strokes and strokes Ariadne and as she comes undone, the pain of her headache ratchets through her body. It beats in her chest and her skull but the heat and pleasure of Mal’s mouth is too good to stop.

Ariadne weaves her fingers into Mal’s hair and tugs to fuck herself on Mal’s tongue, cursing under her breath. She shuts her eyes and bears down, trying to come without exacerbating her headache. It’s inevitable really, but when she comes the spread of her orgasm reaches her skull and relieves all the aches and pressures in her body.

She breathes, “Fuck,”

Mal is crawling back up to her, sliding her bare skin against Ariadne’s freshly shaved legs, with the stubble of her legs pricking the skin of Ariadne’s thighs. Ariadne doesn’t know when Mal lost her pants and underclothes but she doesn’t especially care. “I miss you fucking yourself on my tongue like that,” she whispers, “I missed your thighs and your kiss.”

Ariadne lets her knees fall open so no space separates them and kisses Mal so she’ll stop talking. Maybe Ariadne missed her too, and maybe they both knew what they were getting into when Mal showed up on her doorstep, but Mal is the puppet master here. They can pretend to be ignorant for a while longer.

Their kisses heat again and again, Mal hitching her thigh over Ariadne’s hip and gasping in soft French into her mouth as Ariadne fingers her from behind. She’s so wet that the slide of Ariadne’s fingers over Mal’s folds are almost blind, almost chaotic. Mal rocks herself down on Ariadne’s hip and up into Ariadne’s hand, nearly sobbing with the tension by the time she orgasms. Ariadne’s hand slows as Mal’s hips do and she shifts it against Mal’s ass to alleviate the cramp.

Mal kisses Ariadne’s swollen lips, soothing them with tender strokes of her tongue. Her mouth starts to feel less prickly but still tender from Mal’s continued attention. “I’m not disappointed,” she says, in sleepy, rough whispers, “but I was hoping you’d eat me, too.”

Ariadne briefly cups and squeezes her ass, then trails her fingers up Mal’s spine, making sympathetic cooing noises in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, baby,” she presses her fingers to the seal of Mal’s lips and immediately Mal is licking at them and sucking her own come off Ariadne’s fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll get on my knees for you in the shower.”

Mal hums happily around Ari’s fingers.

They fall asleep not much long after, kissing softly until they both drift off. The heat inside their blankets lulls them away.

-

And the funny thing is that when Ariadne wakes up, Mal is gone. Her overnight bag is gone, her boots missing from the rug in the front door. Nothing is resolved and nothing is redeemed. Ariadne wants to be angry but instead is just resigned. She shouldn’t have expected any different, and if she’s being honest with herself, she’s not sure she would have preferred something different.

She stumbles into the bathroom and showers, but doesn’t start the count until the last of the dried nail polish is washed off her skin. All traces of Mal must be gone. The used cups and empty wine boxes were gone when she woke up. Mal’s memory spilled back into it’s box. Day One.


End file.
